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Quote by Karl Kristian Flores

“I’m no tattoo artist, but I do have a knife. And I’ll cut to the chase and say I use it every night. The first letter of your name Starts with an “L” So I keep drawing them lowercase All over my shell. People ask why I cut myself, I say, “I’m just writing.”

Quote by Karl Kristian Flores

Book:The Goodbye Song
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The Goodbye Song

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Karl Kristian Flores

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“The second I get into a car and we start driving, I imagine a fatal crash to the last detail. When I’m in the liquor store, I imagine a robbery by the time the cashier tells me the total. Every plane ride is an 8-hour movie in my head of me planning what I would say to the stranger on my right if the pilot announced the plane was crashing. I always imagine these scenarios. Family dying. Earthquakes. The earth suddenly falling because gravity left the party. It’s exhausting. Yesterday someone was afraid of me. I was bicycling with Austin and we saw a dead deer on the road. It was so large. Austin nearly fell off his bike when he saw it. Then he looked over at me confused. He asked why I didn't react to it. I told him it was because I’d already imagined one six miles back. There are always two worlds playing in my head at once: what’s in front of me and what could be.”

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“Some people only needed you for transactions. Don’t let sweet personalities fool you into thinking they’ll hold your hand if it’s got blood on it. If one day, you lost a leg, your boss wouldn’t close the store branch for you. If you lost a home, your old classmates wouldn’t lend you theirs. If you decided to give up, your circle will say you made the right decision. No one’s going to save you, but they love meeting you. And so suddenly, when you lose, the whole world turns on you. A freak— as if alienation was only one amputation, one home, one failure away.”

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“A lonely shivering afterward awaits your last sentence, like the wind that blows on the last man standing in a war, heaving on a battlefield no one will remember. Creation isn’t hard. Sleeping in two places at once is hard. Once you create, someone else holds you—on their desk. In the backseat. On their phones. Between their palms. Behold eternal agitation. Writers embark on a revolutionary idea only to be congratulated by katydids. Hearts spill on 8.5x11’s, scratching away their disguise, and then return to lunchtime feeling less than an inch themselves. How do you expect to survive?”

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“The wide-eyed professor lectured, on the verge of tears, and when class ended, the students closed their notebooks shut and asked of her plans for the weekend, which was answered politely, but with a tinge of sadness, for the professor feared her personhood, which had in her lesson plan existed truly only minutes ago, was already being reduced to the small, meaningless matters of tomorrow.”

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Book:The Goodbye Song
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